The bus rattled over a bumpy patch of road, jostling the three of them as they sat shoulder to shoulder.
Cass, already in his usual post-class slump, had dozed off about fifteen minutes into the ride, his head somehow finding its way onto Ginny's shoulder, pressing down with surprising weight. He was half-sprawled against her, arms crossed over his chest, mouth parted slightly in deep sleep.
Ginny rolled her eyes, glancing over at Lyle, who watched his brother with an amused smile.
"I didn't realize I was a pillow service."
Ginny muttered, though she couldn't bring herself to nudge Cass awake. There was something about his quiet, unguarded expression that made her hesitate; he looked almost... vulnerable like this, the usual sharpness in his gaze softened.
Lyle's eyes glinted with quiet humor. "Better you than me."
She shrugged, lifting her opposite shoulder toward him. "Offer's open. In case you've got a two-hour nap in mind, too."
"I'm good. Not tired." His gaze drifted out the window, watching the landscape pass by, though he kept his voice low. "My brother has a talent for sleep. It's almost a superpower."
She laughed softly, shifting a little to settle more comfortably under Cass's weight as the ride continued in peaceful silence, the bus carrying them closer to the familiar streets of home.
It always felt strange, coming back with them.
She knew by now that their mothers were likely in the kitchen, preparing everything for dinner. It was a comforting ritual—her mom and Eleanor, chatting about their week as they half-set the table, trading news and gossip like old friends.
Her mother, Caroline, had always said Eleanor had been a steady friend in those early years when they were both young mothers, figuring out life together in the neighborhood.
But steady wasn't quite the word Ginny would have chosen. Her mom, a psychologist, was warm and grounded, with that way of looking at you that seemed to see straight through all your secrets.
Eleanor, on the other hand, was... different.
Elegant, reserved, and always choosing her words with care, as if afraid one might slip out wrong.
There had been that one time, years ago, when Ginny asked her mom why Eleanor was so different. She could still recall her mom's serious expression, the way she'd measured her words.
"Eleanor's got her own challenges," her mom had explained. "A kind of sickness that doesn't always show on the outside."
Ginny hadn't understood it then—and even now, she wasn't sure she knew exactly what her mom meant. Eleanor didn't look sick; she looked beautiful, always put-together, as if she'd just stepped off a film set. And she adored her sons. If anything, too much, in that way she had of looking at them like they were the only things keeping her tethered to this world.
The bus shuddered to a stop, pulling her from her thoughts. Cass blinked awake, lifting his head from her shoulder with a lazy half-smile.
"Thanks for letting me nap."
"Anytime." She grinned, shaking out her shoulder. "But I might start charging a fee."
"Put it on my tab."
The three of them stepped off the bus and into the cool evening air, the faint scent of dry leaves and wood smoke drifting from somewhere nearby. Cass and Lyle walked beside her, more relaxed now as they neared their neighborhood.
Unlike her, the twins didn't have a dorm on campus—they traveled back and forth daily, two hours each way, never missing a single night. She'd once asked why, and all Cass had offered was a vague, "It's easier for Mom this way."
Like so many things about the Thornes, it seemed one of those details you couldn't understand without living it.
They rounded the last corner, their house coming into view: a small, single-story home with lights glowing warmly from within. It wasn't extravagant or flashy—just a quiet, welcoming place, its walls close and intimate, as if the whole house had been made only for the three of them.
Cass nudged her as they reached the front door, his usual half-smile playing on his lips. "Ready for another episode of 'Eleanor Thorne smothering her children with affection'?"
Ginny laughed, rolling her eyes as he opened the door.
"Don't act like you don't secretly love it."
The familiar warmth of the house wrapped around her as they entered, a blend of cooking spices, old books, and that earthy scent that always lingered here.
The entryway opened into the cozy living room, where a modest sofa and a well-worn coffee table took up most of the space. Shelves lined the walls, filled with an eclectic mix of novels and little trinkets Eleanor had collected over the years.
"Auntie Carol!" Cass called out, his voice light as he kicked off his shoes. Lyle followed, giving Ginny a small smile as he gestured for her to make herself at home. "We're home!"
This was their routine, almost unspoken by now—the twins slipping back into their familiar comfort and Ginny, following just a step behind, fitting herself into the warm spaces they left open.
Her mom's voice drifted from the kitchen.
"In here! Table's nearly ready, you three."
They wandered into the kitchen, where Dr. Caroline Fairchild was arranging the final touches for dinner, her quiet confidence filling the room. She looked up as they entered, her face lighting up as the boys crossed to give her a quick hug.
On the other side of the room, Eleanor stood by the dining table, carefully arranging the silverware. She was slender, graceful, her hair swept back neatly, dressed in soft, muted colors that made her seem almost ethereal against the warm light. She barely looked up when they walked in, her eyes skimming past Ginny's, as if not quite seeing her.
But as soon as Cass and Lyle approached, Eleanor's face softened, and she reached out, drawing them close as if they'd been gone for years instead of just a few hours.
"My boys," she murmured, her voice thick with relief. She stepped back, smoothing Cass's hair and then adjusting Lyle's collar, her fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. "The house just feels so empty without you two."
Cass chuckled, letting her fuss over him. "We weren't gone that long, Mom."
"Long enough," she replied, her voice soft, a flicker of sadness in her gaze. "It always feels like an eternity."
Ginny watched, feeling a familiar awkwardness, like she was intruding on something private. Eleanor had a way of clinging to them, of looking at them like they were her whole world—and she could never tell if it was sweet or unsettling.
It was probably a bit of both.
Her mom gave her a small, understanding look, and Ginny smiled back.
"Dinner's ready," her mom announced, breaking the silence. "Ginny, could you help me with the drinks?"
"Sure."
In the kitchen, Ginny grabbed the glasses her mom had laid out, filling each with water. Her mom gave her a gentle smile, passing her the pitcher.
"Everything alright, sweetheart?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
Caroline's eyes softened, flicking toward the dining room where Eleanor lingered near her sons, fussing with the silverware again, her gaze distant and almost... lost.
Ginny carried the drinks back to the table, feeling an odd weight settle in her chest. There was something in Eleanor's eyes, a look that went beyond motherly concern, like she was clinging to her sons, trying to keep them close to something unseen.
Dinner passed in a warm, familiar haze. Cass told exaggerated stories that had her mom laughing, while Lyle added his own wry comments, always well-timed, making everyone laugh just as they'd caught their breath. Even Eleanor seemed to relax, her laughter soft but real.
At one point, Cass nudged her with his elbow. "So, Ginny, when's our next one of these legendary dinners? Gotta say, it beats your microwave ramen any day."
"Oh, you mean the microwave ramen you beg me to share every week?"
"Hey, I never said it wasn't gourmet. I'm just a man of simple tastes."
As dinner wound down, Eleanor lingered, her gaze drifting between her sons and Caroline, as if savoring the moment. It was only after dessert, when they'd started gathering the dishes, that she seemed to drift back to the present, her expression growing distant.
Ginny followed her mom into the kitchen, and together they began clearing up. A few moments later, she heard Eleanor's soft voice in the dining room, a murmur followed by the sound of the boys' quiet responses.
Her mom glanced at her, her voice gentle. "Eleanor, why don't you come to our place for a bit? We can have tea and catch up."
Eleanor hesitated, her eyes flickering over to Caroline, saying nothing. Cass's calm voice filled the silence.
"It's Thursday, Mom. You have to go with Auntie Carol."
Right—Thursdays. Therapy day.
Caroline had a habit of scheduling Eleanor's sessions after these family dinners. It was a part of the routine, though Ginny never thought about it too closely. The tension shifted as Eleanor's distant gaze turned to the boys, her nod small and slow.
"Okay."
Her mother gave Ginny a soft smile, a silent reassurance as she followed Eleanor out.
"I'll keep an eye on your boys, Auntie El."
Eleanor doesn't look at Ginny, and she don't take it to heart.
"Thank you, Ginny."
Then they were gone, and the house fell into a strange quiet.
Ginny, Cass, and Lyle drifted into the living room, settling onto the couch as the silence stretched around them.
She picked up the remote, flicking through streaming options until they settled on a random romcom.
Cass leaned back, propping his feet up, his gaze fixed on the screen, though his jaw was tight, his posture tense. Lyle sat close beside her, his shoulder brushing hers, his expression calm but resigned, as though he'd lived through this moment a thousand times.
Halfway through the movie, a scream cut through the walls.
Sharp. Ragged. Too close.
Another scream followed, jagged, splintering into a low, gut-wrenching sob.
But it was Thursday.
So, like always, they stayed quiet. Eyes fixed on the screen.